Splinter Cell: The Storm after the Calm
by Scrumpy Dog
Summary: This is my one off Splinter Cell short story, written as a sort of sequel to the events of the game. Its not a strict sequel in the sense that it doesn't quite gel chronologically with the game's end, though it does start at that point. NOW PARAGRAPHED.


Splinter Cell: The Storm After The Calm.

Sam Fisher sat in his favourite armchair, watching the president's address with his daughter. He found it strangely amusing that he was intrinsically involved in the events shown in the preceding newscast. He laughed quietly to himself as the president continued his address.

"Dad, what's going on? You haven't laughed since the Reagan administration." His daughter said, bemused by her usually stern father's jovial behaviour. She smiled, it was nice to have him home for once, and thanks to his work with the government he was never home often. Before he had been a soldier and was away from home for long periods of time. She had hoped this new job would change all that, but if anything she had seen less of him over the past week than ever before.

"It's nothing sweetheart…" replied Sam, unable to talk about any of the events of the past week. That was the life of a man who had made his career from black ops. Total deniability, that was the key. None of the operations he was involved in with Third Echelon had ever existed, none of the activities he had participated in had ever happened, officially he didn't exist. He was a splinter cell, like a splinter of glass, hard, sharp and nearly invisible.

The phone rang, but the tone was one that caught Sam's ear immediately. It was unmistakably the higher pitched tone of the secure line. His daughter, Sarah, started to move in her chair as if about to get up and answer it.

"That's the secure line honey, it's for me," he said, getting up to answer the call.

"You're not leaving are you Dad?" Sarah had a look of concern in her eyes; afraid her worst fears were about to be confirmed. Sam walked across the living room carpet and to the phone. He picked it up, and a familiar voice on the other end confirmed his suspicions.

"Looks like my break is over…" he thought, smiling at the thought of a new mission. "Hello Lambert…" he said.

"Fisher, your vacation just ended." Irving Lambert's gruff tones were distinctive.

"I'll be at the office in ten minutes…" replied Sam.

"I've sent a car for you already; it'll be there any minute. Say your goodbyes and be ready to leave the second it arrives." Lambert's tone was business like, uncompromising.

"Will do," said Sam, putting the phone down.

"Dad?" his daughter's pleading tone, showing that she knew he had to go again.

"I'm sorry honey; we'll have to spend time together when I get back." He was sorry to disappoint his daughter again, his career just didn't fit in with his duty as a father, but national security was national security, family came second. He hugged Sarah tightly to his chest.

"I'll be back soon, I promise. Ok sweetie?" Sarah had learnt that her Dad's promises were often broken, but she put on a happy face for his benefit.

He heard the sound of a car in the drive. Lambert hadn't lied when he said a few minutes; the car had taken less than two.

"Must have been on route already…" thought Sam. He let go of his daughter and walked towards the door.

Thirty minutes later he was in the back of an Osprey, somewhere over the East Coast and slipping into his body suit. It was made of a specially designed material designed to adapt to rapid temperature changes and dry quickly. He tested his goggles, thermo-optic vision, and light enhancement features were working perfectly. He jerked his head back and the goggles swung up away from his eyes. It was good to be getting back in the field again; this was something he could never get bored with. A light by the communications array flashed to show there was an incoming call. Sam nodded and his field runner, Sebastian Magritte turned the video screen on. Lambert's familiar face appeared on the screen.

"Fisher, a little over two hours ago a transmission was intercepted by NSA agents in Columbia…"

Sam interrupted "So why am I being sent to France, Lambert?" His voice was calm, undemanding.

"I'll get to that. This transmission was from Carlos Orozco's Columbian residence-"

Sam interrupted again.

"Orozco? The drug baron?" Lambert continued, unperturbed by Sam's question. "The same. Orozco was in conversation with Karl Stromfeld, a man we know was involved in Germany's bio-weapons program in the mid 90s."

At the mention of biological weapons Sam felt a cold shiver run down his spine. There was something about biological warfare that unnerved him. Perhaps because it was an enemy he couldn't see or fight?

"We know that he is freelancing these days, offering his services to the highest bidder. So far he's only dealt with friendly governments so it's only been observation work, but this latest development needs more direct action. I want you to retrieve Stromfeld's client accounts. We believe he keeps them on his computer in his main residence, a small Chateau just outside Paris."

Sam smiled, "A French castle? This could prove to be quite an interesting mission," he thought.

"You'll be briefed more fully when you've successfully infiltrated the Chateau. Good luck Fisher."

Lambert's face faded from the screen as the call ended. Sebastian Magritte grinned at him.

"Back into the fire eh Sam?" Sam laughed slightly. "Seb, I feel like I never left the frying pan!"

Seven hours and one mid-air refuel later they were speeding along Autoroute A1 towards the Chateau Stromfeld. Magritte was driving, with Sam concealed in the rear of the van away from public eyes.

"Sam, get ready to jump out, I don't want to hang around close to the castle for too long." When Sebastian spoke his voice quivered, and it was evident he was nervous.

"I'll be out Seb, no need to get all worked up on my account," said Sam evidently hoping to steady the younger man's nerves. A nervous man reacted slowly and couldn't think straight and was liable to get killed. He had learnt that from his SEAL team commander, an intelligent man, who understood the value of good morale.

Sam felt the van slow as they approached the Chateau, he double-checked his equipment and guns carefully, making sure each item was working, and replacing each carefully in the correct place on his bodysuit. The van stopped and he heard Magritte's voice through his OPSAT linked earpiece.

"This is it, out you get Sam."

Sam quietly opened the van's sliding door on its left side and crept out into the darkness. He closed the door as carefully as possible and activated his night vision as Sebastian drove away. The castle had been redesigned to be secure, Sam noticed. Directly in front of him, on the opposite side of the dark road was a high outer wall at least seven foot in total. In addition to its extreme height the wall was topped with tight coils of razor wire. It looked like the wall was not an option as an entrance point.

A familiar voice interrupted his thoughts. "Hello Sam."

Sam smiled, "Hi Grim. What you got for me? This place looks like a fortress." He backed further into the shadows as he heard footsteps approaching from far off. Holding his back to the wall he was like a ghost's shadow, completely invisible to the naked eye. He could see the approaching man closer now; see clearly he was one of the Chateau's guards. At a glance he could tell the assault rifle his opponent was carrying was a FAMAS G2, a rifle very similar in design to his own SC-20K. He let the man pass, unaware of Sam's presence.

"It is a fortress Sam, I'm looking at the aerial pictures from one of our satellites and it looks close to impregnable. Stromfeld is a cautious man it seems. I'm sorry to do this to you Sam, but the best way in is the main entrance gate. It's heavily lit and covered by two cameras. In addition there's a guardhouse right next door to the gate, so if you set off an alarm guards will be all over you in seconds." Anna Grímsdóttir, the Third Echelon communications lead sounded concerned for the danger Sam would have to place himself in, in order to successfully infiltrate the castle. Sam cursed under his breath; this made things a lot more complicated.

He looked at his OPSAT interface, studying the map of the Chateau he had been sent by Anna. Sam crept quietly but quickly along the wall towards the gate slowing when he could see the lights from behind the gates illuminating the driveway that extended past them and met the road. He stayed crouched in the shadow of the wall, weighing up different ways of getting past the gates and into the Chateau grounds. Each had dangers, and some were rejected automatically for being too risky.

Suddenly stark beams of white light cut across the shadow and threatened to compromise his concealment. He dived to the ground and lay flat; hoping the slight slope of the land would conceal him enough. His heart seemed to stop as the headlights from the approaching vehicle slashed quickly across his body. He stiffened his body, ready to run, expecting alarms and the shouts of guards any second. Yet none came, the car turned into the drive and Sam heard the sound of the gate motors opening them at the command of a guard in the control booth. There was only one chance, and it was now, standing, Sam removed his assault rifle from his back and moved towards the gate, ready to shoot anyone who spotted him.

He saw the security lights suspended from tall steel posts some distance behind the gates, which were already beginning to close. Steadying his aim he looked through the scope, moving the reticle quickly but skilfully over the first light. He breathed in to hold the weapon still and pulled the trigger gently. As the first shot hit, he was already moving the reticle to the other light and pulling the trigger. The second light went out in a shower of sparks and someone reached the alarm switch seconds later. Sam was already up and running for the almost closed gates, he had to make it now or he was finished. He jerked his head forward, flipping his goggles onto his face and activating his night vision.

With every detail now visible to him in crisp black and white he dived through the gap in the gates just as all hell broke loose. As he hit the ground and rolled back to his feet, the door of the guardhouse burst open and guards with lights mounted on their FAMAS rifles rushed out, scanning the area for the man who had shot out the lights. Narrow beams of light swept across the shadows like hornets loosed from a destroyed nest. He needed to find cover fast, still moving; he scanned the area looking for cover desperately. He saw it and took the opportunity, there was a builders' skip just beyond the guardhouse, and the sound from the alarms and the shouts of the guards would cover any noise he made. He ran in a crouch and vaulted over the edge of the skip and inside.

Crouched he could still see the beams of light sweeping the area around, but hidden in the darkness of the skip, he knew he was out of danger, for now. Grímsdóttir's voice came clear through his earpiece.

"Holy hell Sam, what just happened there? I've got alarms, guards everywhere. All their radio channels are jammed with traffic. The whole place is crawling with guards!"

Sam whispered his reply, his voice sounding as calm as he could force it to sound. "I had to shoot out the lights. I'm inside now. I need a quiet entrance to the main castle, what can you give me Grim?"

Sam breathed deeply his SC-20K held in his hand, ready to take down anyone foolhardy enough to disturb his hiding place.

"Ok Sam, I've found you a route in. They're doing refurbishment at the rear of the castle, there's scaffolding erected that can take you up to the roof. There's a large opening up there, but I'm not one hundred percent on what it actually contains. Hopefully there will be a skylight or maintenance entrance that you can open in there." Sam smiled, finally a piece of luck on this mission.

"Great, Grim, I'll make my way to the roof." Grímsdóttir had more bad news for him though.

"Sam? We've got another problem. You need to finish this in less than an hour. Sunrise is in one hour's time. Take too long and you'll be unable to hide."

Sam cursed under his breath. He crouched, prone; ready to make his way towards the Chateau when the guards moved away. He was brave, but not brave enough to risk getting shot at close range with a FAMAS, not many walked away from such an encounter. As he heard the alarms cease and the guards start to move away to continue the search in another area, Sam climbed up and over the edge of the skip and slipped away into the dark shadows at the rear of the guardhouse. Using the outer wall as his guide, he followed it carefully around to the back of the castle.

In the dull moonlight he could see the dark scaffold silhouetted against the light stone of the high and forbidding Chateau walls. A small moving shadow on the roof warned Sam that a patrolling guard awaited him at the top of the tower of steel. To the security staff's credit, they had attempted to make the scaffolding impossible to climb by removing the lower planks and ladders and wrapping the exposed rods in shiny, lethal razor wire. Sam could see a weakness though, a weakness that he could exploit. He crept towards the wall in a crouching, prone position, his ears and eyes scanning the area for any guard, camera or danger of any sort. His senses picked up no sign of danger, the sounds of shouting and barking dogs told him that everyone was still occupied by his entrance, and no doubt searching the surrounding area carefully.

By the time they moved the search to the rear of the castle, Sam knew he would be safe inside. He reached the wall and turned to face the scaffold, so it was around a quarter of a meter from where he was crouched. Standing he prepared to jump carefully calculating how hard he would have to kick off the wall to get high enough to grab the bottom scaffold plank. He breathed deeply bent his legs, tensing the muscles. He jumped towards the wall and pushed off hard with his foot, effectively doubling the height he jumped. He saw the lower plank come within reach and grabbed hold of it with both hands. He pulled his knees up to his chest to avoid his legs swinging into any of the strands of razor wire that reached this high.

He pulled himself up onto the long plank of wood that was placed in the scaffold to create a small platform for the renovators to work from. Still crouched he made his way carefully to the edge of the scaffold where it was easy to use all the poles as rungs on a makeshift ladder. He held onto a vertical pole and swung round and out over the open ground, grabbing at another pole once he had successfully manoeuvred to the outside of the scaffold. He climbed slowly but steadily, checking the light level reading on his OPSAT display. He was wary of the constant danger of being spotted in such an exposed and vulnerable position.

He stopped a few meters from the top of the platform, his ears alert to the sound of footsteps from the guard. He waited; hanging for what seemed ages as the noise of feet on gravel moved away and faded. He pulled himself onto the top plank of the scaffold and slipped into the shadows of the roof. He turned on his night-vision goggles and scanned the area for the guard. The man was a long way off, on the far side of the roof. The roof was broken into several sections of sloping roof joined by high interconnecting walls. In the midst of all these sloped roofs was a flat concrete area. The guard was still walking a patrol at the far side of the flat area when Sam lost sight of him as he walked behind one of many large slatted boxes, presumably housing ventilation fans. He moved perilously slowly to avoid causing noise as his feet touched the gravel that was scattered across the roof. He moved like a snake in the shadows, silent, watchful, always ready to strike should the need arise.

He was heading towards a point where the flat concrete seemed to drop away, but at a point in the centre of the building. As he neared the edge he could hear the footsteps of the guard returning. There was no time to retreat; as the enemy came ever-closer Sam pressed his back to the wall of the ventilation box he was beside, flattening himself into the darkness. He held his breath as the man passed mere inches from his hidden face. He could smell the heady scent of the man's cheap French cologne. See every imperfection and blemish on his face in grainy night-vision. Sam made his decision in a second, stepping from the shadows, in close behind the guard, pulling his pistol and looping an arm round the man's neck. He pulled the man in close and pressed the pistol hard to his temple to make sure he understood the consequences that would follow any struggle or shout.

"You speak English?" demanded Sam, his mouth inches from the man's ear, his voice a harsh tone through clenched teeth.

"A…little" said the guard, sounding like the pitiful little child he had once been. Sam pulled him closer into the shadows.

"Good. I'm going to ask you a few questions, you try to lie to me and I'll have to get brains all over the floor…understand? Nod" Sam's cold cruel voice revealed nothing of his personality, to the man at his mercy it sounded like the icy tones of Death. He nodded as far as the arm locked tightly round his neck would allow him to.

"What's down there?" asked Sam; jerking the man round so he could see the place he was referring to.

"Swim pool…you know swim?" Something warm ran down the man's leg and collected into a small pool by Sam's foot. He smiled to himself, and then continued his interrogation, his voice once again like steel.

"Any guards? Cameras? Trip-wires?" his voice was no more than a whisper, but it seemed to echo in the Frenchman's mind like the dread notes of an organ in a cavernous cathedral.

"No…no electric, but a guard, yes. Pierre." There was nothing in the man's reactions or voice to indicate he was lying, and Sam was pleased to hear there were no electronic surveillance measures; because it made his job a lot easier. Pierre was about to get an unwanted shock.

"Thanks," said Sam with a slight grin, bringing his pistol up and then down hard on the man's neck so he was unconscious. He let the limp body slide to the floor and dragged it back into the shadows. The guard would be out most the night, and wake with one hell of a headache in the morning.

Pierre was tired and bored of waiting for the intruder that never came. He had drunk several strong cups of good coffee and smoked ten cigarettes, but he still felt weary and kept glancing at his watch periodically, willing the hands to move faster. The radio had been shouting at him about an intruder at the main gate, but there was no way a man could get up to the roof without going through the Chateau and alerting everyone. He knew for a fact that the scaffold at the rear of the building was the only other way up to where he was, and since it was wrapped in razor wire it wasn't an option for any enemy to use. He could go off duty at 5am, and thankfully now he only had ten minutes left. He sat back down in his chair and waited for the time to pass. He was a man with ambition, and had no intention to be a guard for the rest of his life. He had been learning English for three years now, and found he had a natural flair for it. He was considering leaving his beloved France and offering his services to America or Great Britain. Fate however had something different in store for him, for he was not destined to leave his mother France.

Ripples and the sound of something falling into water woke him from his musings immediately. He was at once awake and professional once more. The end of his shift was irrelevant, all that mattered was he do his job. He stood; hands tight round the handles of the FAMAS he carried, its smooth grey surface a comfort to him. He crept towards the pool, the rifle pointing at the water, ready to shoot the man that he was sure had slipped into it while he was distracted. He didn't see the slight silhouette of a foreign operative on the edge of the roof to his left. He didn't hear the man as he dropped catlike into the shadows by the edge of the wall, landing as silently as death. Pierre moved towards the pool's edge, his veins coursing with fear and excitement, an adrenaline filled mixture that blocked his faculties. He got ready to fire, to shred the enemy like old documents, his mind filled with the glorious vision of tattered flesh and red stained water.

He felt a knee in his back and the cold barrel of a gun to his temple, felt a gloved hand forcing him down onto his knees, his head out over the water. In the dim light he couldn't see the face of his assailant, only the black clothing his wore, and his smile. Was it a smile? Or was it merely a business like grimace? Pierre couldn't tell, but he felt a feeling he hadn't felt in a long time rising within him. Fear. Damp warm fear, making his clothes stick to him like napalm to bare flesh. He fought it off; he wasn't going to be scared, he wouldn't whimper like a child.

"Hello Pierre," the voice reverberated down his spine, it was so icy so emotionless, just the voice of another professional doing a job.

"Hi," said Pierre, hoping to throw the man off his guard slightly by talking back to him.

Sam let Pierre know this was not an advisable course of action by forcing the barrel of his gun firmly against the man's skull.

"You speak to me again, you die. Nod if you understand." Pierre nodded gently, his fingers still tight around his FAMAS.

"Hand's off that gun, we wouldn't want any accidents" growled Sam. Pierre obeyed, raising his hands slowly from his weapon.

"Stand, we're going to take a little walk. Don't try anything foolish, somehow I don't think Herr Stromfeld wants to find your corpse when he comes for his morning swim."

The voice was devoid of any humour though the phrasing suggested the opposite. The man clearly enjoyed this, and Pierre knew from experience that that sort of opponent was both the most dangerous and most easily distracted enemy. Dangerous because he was unpredictable, closer to a psychopath than most soldiers.

Pierre felt a hand pull him up and he was dragged back from the pool, an arm round his throat, and a gun barrel at his head. If he was going to make his move, he would have to make it soon; this man would kill him once he had used him.

Sam could feel the difference between the reactions of the previous guard and Pierre. Whereas the first guard had clearly wanted to run, taking a flight response to Sam, this man was ready to fight. Sam could feel his opponent's increased heartbeat through the arm looped around Pierre's neck, and felt the slight resistance from the other man as he dragged him towards the keypad lock on the door that led into the Chateau itself.

"The code, punch it in, slowly" Sam's voice was pure ice now, and Pierre heard the change.

"If it doesn't accept, you're a dead man. Do it now." Pierre raised one hand slowly, steady as a rock. The other hand started to descend slightly, ready to grab the rifle's stock and fire. He would have only one chance as he saw it, the second the code was accepted he had to swing his rifle round and shoot, but he would have to be very fast. He pushed each digit on the keypad firmly, first 1 then 3 then 7 and 7 again. The pad gave a low tone to acknowledge the code as a valid one. It flashed a message on the small LCD panel above the numbered buttons; "CODE ACCEPTED". The magnetic dead bolts locking the door withdrew into the housings in the doorframe with a quiet slipping sound.

Pierre made his move; dropping the lower to the FAMAS he pivoted the weapon using his shoulder strap for support. Sam saw the movement and the reaction was instinctive, knee-jerk. He pulled the trigger on his silenced pistol and the man went limp. Blood, bone and brain matter stained the wall by the keypad. Sam dragged the man into the shadows by the wall he had dropped beside. Creeping stealthily back to the door, he wiped the wall as best as he could with his glove and hoped no one would spot it before daylight. He punched in the four-figure code and entered the Chateau Stromfeld.

The lights were off in the room he had entered, but he could examine the contents thanks to the light amplification goggles he wore. It was a tiled room, with a wooden bench against one wall. Above this bench was an array of hooks, presumably for hanging clothes on. On the far side of the room was a large shower cubicle with a frosted glass door. The only exit from this room seemed to be through a wooden door next to the shower. A small sliver of light spilled under the gap between the bottom of the door and the floor, periodically a shadow would cut it off. Sam switched his goggles to thermal optic mode and moved towards the door. Through the thin wood he could see the guards' warm bodies in white, red and yellow against the cooler corridor in a dark blue. There was one guard right in front of the door, not moving, the telltale shape of a FAMAS across his body in light blue. Behind him, further along the corridor the door led to, Sam could count a further four guards, patrolling or standing guard by a door. He hoped that there was another way to leave the room he was in. To take on four guards would be plain suicidal, saying nothing for the alarms it would set off.

He needed to find an alternative route. He moved back from the door and urgently whispered into the microphone of his OPSAT.

"Grim? I'm in the building, in the room adjacent to the pool."

There was no response but the dull crackle of white noise in the background. Sam was immediately concerned, he hadn't lost communications during a mission with Third Echelon before, and it seemed odd that it should happen now. There was one possibility, the portable relay in the back of the van had stopped working, but if that had happened, it seemed almost certain that Seb had been caught. The mission suddenly seemed to be in jeopardy, as well as the life of his field runner. He couldn't handle the thought of losing another man in the field; he had been shaken up by the death of Wilkes, his previous field runner, who had been killed while trying to extract Sam on a previous mission. He had been operating with Seb for longer though, and he considered him almost a friend now.

He moved to the shower and opened the door stealthily, still watchful for any sign that the guard by the door would move. Inside he found what he had been hoping for. A vent designed to extract steam from the shower was fitted a little above head height. The ventilation shaft itself was covered by a highly decorative brass grate, which was screwed to the tiles. Sam closed the door to the shower, and felt in one of the pockets on his leg for his small toolkit. He took it out and found the flathead screwdriver, then stood and began to unscrew the grate, painfully slowly. For what seemed an agonisingly long time, he worked one screw loose, the bottom left hand one. He opened the door to the shower slowly and checked the position of the guards again. They didn't seem to have changed, so he retreated back into the shelter offered by the cubicle and got to work on the other screws. Finally he loosened and removed the bottom right and top right hand screws so that the panel could be swung open, pivoting on the one remaining screw. He placed the loose screws inside the shaft and pulled himself up and inside.

The shaft was wide enough inside to turn in, and he turned so he was facing the door of the shower. He reached to one side with his hand and swung the grate back up slowly. The holes in the grate were wide enough for him to slip his and through, and he found that he could replace the screws and refasten the grate from the inside where he was now. It took him some time, but when he had finished, Sam was confident that it would look like it had never been moved. He turned again and examined his surroundings. The shaft was linked to the main ventilation system it seemed, for it branched off a larger shaft running at right angles. Sam figured that if he headed down this main tunnel, it would take him past the perilous corridor adjacent to the shower room. He shivered very slightly despite his suit when the cold damp air that whistled down this larger shaft touched his face. He could feel the moisture on the floor of the tunnel through his gloves as he crawled along it like a rat in a sewer drain. He could hear muffled voices from various shafts that branched off the main tunnel into the corridor, and he continued until he reached where he judged the corridor to end. Without guidance from Grímsdóttir, he would have to use guesswork to find Stromfeld's office, where his computer would be. Suddenly an urgent, desperate voice sounded in his ear.

"Sam!" it hissed in a trembling whisper.

"Seb? What happened, where are you?" replied Sam, surprised to hear the voice of his field runner.

"I…his office. They took me to his office." Sam took the pause as a chance to speak.

"Who did? What happened to you?" he asked.

"They…they're coming back…" the earpiece went dead again apart from the slight crackle of static.

He had to hurry; it seemed unlikely that Sebastian would be left in Stromfeld's office for long. He moved along to the end of the vent, swifter now, less cautious about noise. He wished Grim was still in contact, he knew in this situation her directions could be invaluable. He saw the slight spill of light drawing closer as he approached the end of the tunnel. He slowed down and lay flat, pulling himself along the aluminium vent with his hands, letting his body slide on the cold metal. He drew closer to the grate and switched on his thermal vision.

Thankfully the corridor he could see was free of any human presence. A distinctive whirring sound warned him that there was a security camera in this corridor. He couldn't see it, which meant that if he mistimed his entry, he could drop right into its field of vision and set off every alarm in the place. To do that meant certain capture or death, as well as the end of any hope for Sebastian. He pulled the grate inwards and slid it so it rested against the wall next to him. He un-shouldered his rifle and pulled out a special tool from one of his pockets.

A sticky camera, small enough not to attract suspicion or trigger alarms, but large enough to fit servos to allow it to be rotated, as well as the same night vision and thermal optics as his goggles. It was a masterpiece of miniaturisation.

He slipped it into the bottom mounted grenade launcher and aimed his weapon at the wall opposite. The camera hit the wooden panelled wall and stuck in, its images being transmitted to Sam through his goggles. He rotated it; searching for the surveillance camera he could hear working. It was further down this corridor than he had expected, above a pair of heavy double doors at the far end. He switched to thermal optic mode and saw that the corridor was lined with laser trip wires at various heights.

He moved the camera back round so it faced the vent where he was crouched, and was pleased to see that there was no laser beam directly below him.

Sam turned off the camera and dropped silently into the corridor. It was lined with carpet, which made it easier to be silent while moving quicker. He could clearly see the camera now at the far end, as well as lasers littering the corridor, placed at random, as if by some insane security man. The camera was armoured, so shooting it out was no option at all. This meant he would have to time his move perfectly, avoid the lasers and get beneath the camera, and therefore out of its vision before it swung back across its arc. It would have to be a perfectly timed manoeuvre, ballet-like in its perfection.

He mentally counted the swing of the camera from its leftmost position to its finishing position on the right. Twenty-two seconds, but he would only have half that time, as it swung from its centremost point to the finishing point. That gave him eleven seconds. It seemed barely possible, even if he made it, the noise he would make moving that fast would alert guards all over the building. Had it been just about the mission, perhaps he would have found an alternative route, but that room looked like it might be Stromfeld's office, and Sebastian was inside.

He watched as the camera swung to the centre, counting mentally downwards, twenty…fifteen…thirteen…eleven. He stood and ran, vaulting the first laser that was below chest height, rolling under the next waist height one. Seven…six. He was faced with a net of lasers all about shoulder height; he ran and kicked off the wall, ducking so he didn't hit the roof, landing perfectly on the other side of the lasers. Four…three. He still had at least four meters to go, he ran and vaulted another laser, rolled under the next stopping dangerously close to the next lasers, another row of them, one above the next, blocking the whole corridor, the bottom one barely half a meter from the floor. One…zero. The camera was swinging back towards him, only one chance. He threw himself flat on his chest and pushed with his hand, twisting his body to force the roll.

He slipped under the laser and came to a rest at the door, flat on his back, staring up at the still rotating camera. He had made it through.

He sat up and crouched, reached for his fibre-optic camera, and fed it beneath the door. He could see this was the right room immediately, a lone figure was sitting in a chair, facing away from him, but he could see by the hair and body shape it was Seb. He tried the door, locked, as expected. He put the fibre optics back in his pocket and pulled out a disposable lock pick. It was a pick in name only. It was actually a small charge and detonator, a tiny amount; just enough to blow away the lock bolts. He placed it in the lock and pressed the button to ignite the fuse. He stepped aside and watched it detonate with a subtle shower of sparks. He pushed the door and it swung open easily. He closed it behind him, swung his goggles away from his eyes and turned on the light.

The chair in front of him swivelled round to meet the intruder, and Sam was stupefied by what he saw. A gun, in the hand of the man he had come to save.

"Hello Fisher," said Sebastian Magritte.

"Seb…" Sam's voice was hollow, his mind reeling at the betrayal.

"I've shown my cards, so you can dispense with first names. I don't consider you a friend, and you sure as hell shouldn't consider me one."

Magritte's voice was cold, bitter. Sam asked the one question he was burning to ask, what he had to know.

"Why?" Magritte smiled a cold hard smile.

"Why? Such a pointless question. A question with a pointless answer. The money was better. These guys pay me more than NSA basic salary. Not that you'll accept that, not Sam Fisher, for whom the world is black and white, as simple as that. Must I have a darker reason for betraying the glorious motherland?" Magritte's eyes were cold, but calm, the eyes of a sane man, yet to Sam he spoke madness.

"You've betrayed freedom, don't you see that? How can money be this important to you?"

Sam's face was desperate, trying to comprehend Magritte's true motives for betraying Third Echelon, but instinctively tensing for the fight, sliding his hand back towards the gun on his hip. He wanted to silence this man, stop his ravings and get as far from this place as possible.

"Don't. I may not be as good a shot as you, but at this range, your little daughter couldn't miss."

Magritte spoke with a sneer, which made Sam ever more angry. If he could hit the lights, it would give him the precious seconds he needed, but if he moved any closer, Magritte would shoot him without a moment's hesitation.

Sam heard a movement behind him, and two guards entered the room.

"Take him downstairs and put him in a holding cell till Stromfeld gets here. I will be in this office if I am needed."

Magritte stood and walked over to Sam.

"Goodbye Fisher, maybe one day you'll understand" he said.

As he turned to walk away, Sam made his move. Like a cobra striking, Sam shot out his arm and looped it round Magritte's neck, he pulled his pistol, pointed it at the traitor's head. He forced Magritte's body round so he was facing the guards, with Sam behind him, using him as a human shield.

"Don't kill him!" shouted one of the guards in a thick French accent, moving back slowly.

"Raise your hands high, or I will right now."

The guards complied slowly, raising their hands and placing them on top of their heads.

"Thank you" said Sam, and shot each in the centre of the forehead with the pistol, before returning it to point at Magritte.

"You'll never make it out of here alive Fisher" sneered Magritte, trying to hide his alarm at his change in fortunes.

"If I die, I'm taking you with me. Money is no use to you, if you're a stinking corpse"

Sam's voice was hard as stone, his face impassive.

"I still need what I came for." He dragged Magritte over to the computer on the desk.

"Are you stupid enough to think those files are really here? I told the guards to destroy the files as soon as you had left me alone"

Magritte laughed coldly at the thought.

"Then I'm taking the next best thing. You" snarled Sam.

He forced his hostage through the door ahead and dragged him along the corridor, knowing the laser grid would have been deactivated for the two guards to pass through.

"How do I get to the grounds from here? If I think you're lying I'll make sure you die in agony, alone."

Magritte knew it was a bad idea to even think of lying to this man. He was trained in lie detection, and would spot one a mile off. He wasn't ready to die yet.

"Go left, down the emergency stairs. It'll take you to the kitchens, you can get out the back door there" said Magritte, his voice trembling slightly, and markedly higher than usual.

Sam didn't reply and continued to drag the man along the corridor. He pulled him to the staircase and kicked open the door, using his prisoner for cover. Five guards in the corridor had their rifles trained towards him, but he knew they wouldn't risk hitting Magritte. He pulled him into the stairwell and let the door close on its spring. A dull light illuminated the stairs, so Sam kept his night vision off as they went down it. His hostage had counted on this. As Sam reached a point halfway down the stairs, the guards at the top of the stairwell did exactly as Magritte had hoped they would, they shot out the light, plunging the stairs into complete darkness. Blinded suddenly Sam was taken by surprise as Magritte grabbed his gun and kicked at his knee. He buckled and his hostage slipped free and ran back towards the guards. He heard Sebastian Magritte's shrill voice as he reached the guards.

"Kill him! Kill him now!"

As bullets began to ricochet off the walls and metal stairs, Sam vaulted the banister and dropped into the darkness below. He winced as he landed badly on the leg whose knee Magritte had kicked. Limping slightly he ran as best he could into the kitchen, desperate as he heard voices and boots coming down the stairs after him. He flicked the lights off and switched his night vision on. A guard came through the door at the end and Sam shot him with his SC-20K assault rifle and ran across his corpse to the grounds outside. He had to get out, fast.

He ran towards the main gates, with bullets kicking up the dirt all around him as the group from the stairs fired where they thought he was. He heard a dull thudding in the air, and hoped that Stromfeld's security team didn't have a helicopter at their disposal. Then he saw what the thudding was caused by, salvation. Seeing the Osprey he felt like he was seeing an old friend after many years apart. It was hovering just above the guardhouse, and an unfamiliar face was shooting guards as they approached. Sam knew what he had to do and ran, still limping slightly towards the guardhouse. He reached the building, jumped and grabbed the ledge of the roof. The NSA agent in the tilt-rotor aircraft gunned down a few more guards behind him. He pulled himself up and onto the roof and ran to the ramp that hung off the back of the Osprey. He rolled as he hit the hard metal floor and lay on his back; in the corner of his eye he could see the Chateau grounds descend as the aircraft flew away. The mission was over, but for the first time as a Third Echelon member he had failed to achieve his objectives. He winced as his fading adrenaline levels brought back the pain of his knee. He had a feeling this was just the beginning.

NOTE: This currently resides in the Misc RPG section, because I cannot find a category for Splinter Cell. I am going to see if FF.com can get me one. Hope no-one gets too annoyed by this.

To the moderators. If you decide this is in the wrong place, please offer me an alternative location to place it, since I'm quite proud of it, and I'd like to give people the chance to read it. Thanks.

Hope you enjoyed the story.


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